


how you've earned it

by tagteamme



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Rough Sex, Rutting, Shiro realizes he likes to pin Keith down and maybe mark him: in this essay I will explain, Sparring, no redeeming plot value
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 17:12:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tagteamme/pseuds/tagteamme
Summary: Shiro sees it coming from a mile and drops his weight down, forcing Keith’s knees apart and wedging himself between his legs.It takes a considerable amount of force, strength, and energy to capture Keith’s wrists but Shiro manages anyways, manages to force them down under Keith’s back and pin them. There’s space there, too much, and Shiro realizes that Keith’s arching against him now.“Keith,” He starts, and Keith shoots him a crooked grin, and it hits Shiro like a truck thatthisis how he wants Keith.





	how you've earned it

**Author's Note:**

> While my family and I were lost in a city looking for a new year's celebration, [kaii](https://akaiikowrites.tumblr.com) was texting me about nasty sheith headcanons and it spawned into this fic. this one's for you, friend.

It’s nothing malicious— he knows that off the bat. Shiro doesn’t want to break Keith in like a wild horse. Whatever Shiro wants to do is rooted in the fact that Keith’s got more raw energy in him than anyone he’s ever met.

They've snuck off Garrison grounds so far past curfew that if they're caught, not even Shiro's golden standing will save them. It's not a first for Shiro, but it is for Keith. Quiet Keith, Keith who has grown up in the desert, Keith who had spent years in isolation with just his father and had to make the jarring transition to being constantly surrounded by cadets. Keith who has managed to carve out a space for himself both at the Garrison and in Shiro's life, wedged neatly within Shiro's heart.

Shiro tightens his grip around Keith’s slender waist as Keith guns it down a long stretch of dirt. If he’s going to take care of Shiro’s hoverbike when Shiro’s planets apart, Shiro wants to know that he’s as good at maneuvering it as he insists he is. The night sky stretches over them, and Keith just _barely_ skims the ground, enough to kick dirt up their side as he takes a sharp turn. Shiro almost eats some, but he manages to close his mouth and eyes in time.

They don’t ever wear their helmets, regardless of one being an up and coming star of the Garrison  and the other being the pilot of a landmark mission into space. It reminds Shiro that under the strong, kind, and commanding image he’s built up of himself, there’s still the reckless, risk-taking student who raised the bar for simulator scores so high, that it took a few years for someone to even match it. Shiro’s hoping that when he comes back from Kerberos, Keith will have overtaken him in the official scores. As it is, every run they've done in the past week has had Keith blow each one of his last scores out of the water.

It’s easy for people to pinpoint and categorize Keith. Shiro’s the only one that’s not been able to do it, but that’s somehow led him to understand Keith more. Better. Shiro squeezes his arms, sees if he can shift them up and press against bone. Keith doesn’t mind it; Shiro will pass it off as just being terrified that Keith’s going to wreck his bike. He can pick and scratch at what the low burning that comes with the act really means, later.

For now, he enjoys the cool night wind whipping his face as Keith takes another sharp turn. When they stop, when they lounge on the bike and stare up at the stars that yawn above them, Shiro tells Keith he loves him.

It’s not the first time he’s said it, isn’t something he holds back in saying. The song never gets old, and Shiro hopes that if he says it enough, the words will brand themselves across Keith’s skin. The first time he said it, it had been two days after Keith had clenched sweaty hands and stuttered out a confession after a tutoring session. Shiro waited two days before reciprocating, not because he didn't know if he did, but because he didn't know if it was right. He's going to Pluto in few months. He's the youngest pilot to fly out so far. He doesn't know if it's right to hook Keith's heart right before he leaves for two years—but their bond had developed from before, and Shiro feels that this is where they had been heading anyways.

And Shiro is selfish. It's a crack in his chassis that he cannot ignore. He wants Keith, wishes he could take him to Kerberos, can't fathom letting him go for this mission. He loves Keith, and that love’s woven into his bones like an old truth. He wants to leave as much of that love with Keith as possible so that it can carry Keith over two years of grainy photographs and sparse communication through a secret channel that Matt’s been kind enough to link Shiro in on.

The thought of it alone is enough to make Shiro crackle, make him excited and make him feel like the clock’s ticking too fast to be real.The frenetic energy he has around Keith needs to funneled, tamed, needs an outlet before he shoots off into space with only memories to tide him over.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The clarity doesn’t come to Shiro the first time he has Keith in his bed. The first time he takes Keith, it’s tentative and careful. They don't have all the time in the world, but he draws it out like they do. It's a new experience for both of them, and it's hard to think about anything beyond the love he has for the man he's got pressed into his bed.

It doesn’t come to him the second, third, sixth or tenth time either, even as they get progressively more comfortable being intimate with each other.

It strikes him late one night when he’s got Keith’s arms wrenched behind him, watching Keith arch in his arms as he plants his feet on the ground. Shiro almost catches a mouthful of dark hair, can feel the strain of Keith’s arms as he tries to break the hold. Shiro follows the way his hands squirm, the way Keith tries to rotate his wrists to escape.

It’s long past curfew, but Shiro’s managed to sneak them into one of the smaller training rooms with his instructor’s key card. Not that anyone would question Shiro’s intentions even if they _were_ to stumble across him giving private instruction to one of the cadets. And his intentions are initially good. Keith is a quick learner, a sharp fighter, and an excellent partner to take to the mat. He makes Shiro want to be better so that he can make Keith better.

“You’re losing your cool,” Shiro says evenly, and Keith grunts in frustration. “Remember what I said.”

“You say a lot of things,” Keith twists and Shiro moves with him, trapping him again. “How the hell am I going to remember them all?”

The more tense Keith goes, the more he ensures that Shiro’s hold is inescapable, but Shiro’s going to let him find that out for himself. Shiro chuckles at the heat behind Keith’s words but doesn’t let go. At this point with any other student he would have, would have told them to reset and try to approach the same situation again with a little more thought. But he can’t seem to let go of Keith, not until—

“Fine,” Keith huffs, and Shiro feels him go lax. “Tapping out.”

Shiro lets go of Keith, and Keith shakes out his hands. He turns to face Shiro and Shiro gives him a teasing smile.

“You’re too rigid,” He tells Keith, and Keith looks like he’s about to retort for a second. He chooses to roll his eyes instead and grabs Shiro by the front of his shirt.

Shiro tries not to smile too wide as Keith pulls him in for a clumsy kiss, bumping their noses together. He lets take Keith take the lead, lets Keith bite his lower lip and peek his tongue out for a few seconds as he keeps Shiro’s shirt tangled in his fist. When Keith finally lets go, he’s redder than he’s been for the better part of the hour.

“Better?” Shiro asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Whatever,” Keith sounds petulant, but Shiro can see his lips quirking as they try to hide a smile. “Again.”

“If that’s what you want,” Shiro replies easily and Keith mutters something under his breath as he stalks to the other corner of the training mat. “What was that, cadet?”

“Nothing, _sir_ ,” Keith says, rotating his neck. It’s got a playful bite to it, one that Shiro knows is going to be followed by a statement that’s going to give Shiro an excuse to get a little rough. “I think I figured out a way to kick your ass.”

“Yeah?” Shiro shuffles his feet into his stance, and raises his hands in front of his face. He’s not a trash talker by nature, but he’s got other ways to put Keith in his place.

And he does.

Keith leaps at him with unrefined ferocity and approximately none of the Garrison-endorsed techniques, and it almost throws Shiro off balance. Keith swings with his leg and Shiro manages to block it with a wrist just in the nick of time. Keith aims another kick and Shiro catches it before he can retract it, throwing the ankle aside.

Keith maintains his balance and goes in with a lower kick to the gut that happens so fast that Shiro can’t see it before it lands on his stomach. He lets out a short _oof_  as Keith tries it again; Shiro ducks within a hair’s width of receiving another blow.

“Decent,” He offers Keith, and Keith scoffs before trying to attack him again.

This time Shiro does manage to catch Keith as Keith aims a punch for his centre, and deflects his wrist hard enough to throw Keith off balance. He grabs Keith’s elbow and wrist and uses the two joints to twist Keith around. Before Keith can retaliate, he swipes at his feet, kicking his ankles at just the right angle to take Keith down. It’s easy for him, but _only_ him; Shiro knows that Keith’s got a reputation of being undefeated amongst his classmates. It’s a point of pride for Shiro, even when he’s knocking Keith onto his knees.

“Submit,” He tells Keith, twisting and pushing till Keith’s on his front. He normally doesn’t put a lot of strength into any of his sparring sessions, doesn’t have to, but he knows Keith will easily find a way out otherwise. He also knows that the tight hold on Keith’s arm is going to leave behind red marks that’ll fade easily but will imprint themselves on to Shiro’s brain.

Keith makes a sound of discomfort but doesn’t tap out. Instead, he tries to work through each of the defence techniques Shiro’s drilled into him. Shiro meets him with a trap in each and every single one, and eventually finds himself on the ground as well, trying to wrestle with Keith. They roll, each trying to gain the upper hand, Keith trying to play dirty where he can. He grabs at Shiro’s shirt, tries to yank and twist and Shiro has to lock and fold his wrist, flip them over so that he can grab the back of Keith’s neck and control his head.

Keith tries to jam the heel of his palm under Shiro’s jaw and shove, and Shiro lets Keith have it, allows Keith think he’s got Shiro for a the smallest fraction of a second before he tucks his chin and grabs Keith’s arm. He uses the forward momentum of Keith’s shove to flip him over onto his belly and wrench his hand against his back. Shiro immediately digs a knee into the small of Keith’s back to anchor him. Keith arches, squirms, and Shiro uses his other hand to place his palm between Keith’s shoulders and press him down into the mat.

“Submit,” He repeats, this time with a stern voice. Immediately, Keith relaxes under him, but remains silent. Shiro eases the grip he has on Keith and Keith instantly tries to take advantage, tries to turn over and draw up his knees in one swift motion so that he can kick Shiro off. Shiro sees it coming from a mile and drops his weight down, forcing Keith’s knees apart and wedging himself between his legs.

It takes a considerable amount of force, strength, and energy to capture Keith’s wrists but Shiro manages anyways, manages to force them down between Keith’s back and the floor and pin them. There’s space there, too much, and it’s then that Shiro realizes that Keith’s started to arch against him.

“Keith,” He starts, and Keith shoots him a crooked grin, and Shiro realizes that Keith hasn’t actually been trying to win.

It hits Shiro like a truck that _this_ is how he wants Keith. He can’t articulate why the sight of Keith, pink with exertion and dark bangs pressed to his forehead with sweat, satiates some sort of hunger within him. But it does, and it pokes at something in Shiro that causes him to roll his hips down.

Keith freezes, and for the briefest second, Shiro thinks he’s made a mistake by doing this when he’s got Keith trapped. He’s about to let go of Keith, about to reset and apologize profusely, but Keith makes a noise of protest just as Shiro releases some pressure.

“No,” Keith blurts out, looking up at Shiro. “Stay. Hold– Shiro, hold on to me.”

Shiro feels his expression grow dark and complies, squeezing Keith harder. Keith hikes one of his legs up in return, wrapping it around Shiro’s hips, while the other hooks around Shiro’s thighs and pulls him closer. Keith strains his neck up and tries to reach Shiro for a kiss; Shiro lets him have the barest brush of lips as he moves again, grinding down against Keith.

Keith moans and the sound reverberates through Shiro. He leans down enough to give Keith a brief kiss before nipping at his bottom lip. Keith tries to meet him again, but Shiro withdraws enough that Keith misses him by the slightest amount. Keith makes a sound of protest and arches up against Shiro, chasing friction and heat that Shiro’s only too happy to provide.

“Shiro,” Keith rasps, and Shiro loves the way his voice wraps lowly around his name. Loves that he can see the definition of Keith’s arms and the sharp edges of his collarbones in the grey tank top, loves the strength with which Keith moves and squirms underneath him.

Shiro puts all his weight into pinning Keith down, into short hard thrusts that has both of them scrunching their eyes shut. They pant out of sync with each other, and Shiro can feel the coil tighten in his gut as they draw close. His body feels tense like a bow string, ready to snap at any moment. From the way Keith shudders against him, he knows Keith’s approaching his end as well.

There’s a soft whirring _click click click_ and Shiro immediately pushes off, hauls himself onto his feet, grabbing Keith by the front of his shirt. Keith looks at him, wide eyed and panicky, and Shiro tries to will his body into calming down. There’s no towel, there’s no pillow he can grab to hide himself, so he reaches for the next best thing.

“Wha-” Keith yelps in surprise as Shiro pulls him into a headlock, bending over Keith so that Keith’s hidden as well from whoever’s decided to unlock the door to the training room.

It turns out to be the janitor, who apologizes for walking in on the middle of their training session. By then the mood’s been completely killed and Shiro deems it safe to let Keith go. Shiro shrugs it off and asks the janitor in a conspiratol manner to not let any of his commanding officers know that he’s sneaking in after hours to beat up the juniors, and Keith’s a step behind Shiro, still flushed red. Shiro’s eternally grateful that the standard gym uniform is black, and hides whatever small wet patch grew on the front of his pants.

Even though the moment’s gone, Shiro’s still burning beneath his skin. He’s still tense, and he knows that there’s a new pit in his hunger that he’ll have to feed. For now, he’ll have to walk Keith back to his dorm before heading back to his own quarters, just incase someone else is out patrolling the halls for curfew-breaking strays. He’s going to have to settle with the memory of Keith pinned and wanting underneath him. For now, he’s got to try to name  the specific type of pleasure that’s curling within him.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s hard for them to get time again, and Shiro thinks about that night a lot more than he should. It haunts him in a dream and even there, he’s interrupted by his early morning alarm. Shiro wants to take Keith back to the room, wants to wrestle with him again till he’s earned what he wants to take.

But he tries to make do in the twenty-eight minutes Shiro has in between his lunch and a meeting he has with Holt and Iverson. He’s been unable to stop thinking about Keith all morning, and ran into him as he came out of the mess hall just by chance. It’s trite but Shiro’s pulled Keith into a small broom closet in a secluded section, eager to get his hands all over him.

They have a grand total of five minutes before either of them are late to where they're going. It's cramped and smells weird but it doesn't matter to Shiro because he likes being pressed against Keith. As it is, there'd be no use for extra space with the ferocity with which Keith is drawing him in.

He gets the brainwave when he brings a hand to wrap around Keith's neck, trying to slow him down. Shiro likes how hungry Keith is when they kiss, but he's dangerously close to knocking Shiro into a weakly built shelf full of bleach bottles. Shiro clings onto him and tries to temper him so that they don't make noise, but it's a hard feat when he wants to pick Keith up and take him against the wooden planks.

He stops kissing Keith, draws back to tell him that he's got to calm down just a little, that Shiro will give him whatever he needs just— just not _now._ But Shiro's as gone in then moment and all he can hone in on is how nice it'd be if he could leave just the smallest mark.

He settles for tugging at the collar of Keith's uniform and pops open the first few buttons. There's a strip of skin exposed but he pushes apart the cloth till more of Keith's neck is bared.  He manages to reveal Keith's neck down to his collarbone and tries to furiously remember where the neckline for the regulation gym shirts started.

He presses and Keith looks down at where Shiro’s large hand crests above his heart. Shiro leans in to kiss Keith's jaw and his neck, quick and short. He licks his lips in between to wet them and when he kisses Keith  over his Adam's apple, he can feel him swallow.

He makes his way down swiftly to the dip of Keith's neck, before settling his lips over Keith's collarbone. Keith twines his fingers through Shiro’s hair and Shiro follows when Keith pulls him closer.

He sucks the skin over the prominent bone, takes it between his teeth. Keith makes a surprised sound when Shiro bites down gently but Shiro feels Keith trying to tug him even closer, even though they're already threatening to melt into each other. Shiro worries the area with his mouth and can feel the heave of Keith’s chest as his breathing gets louder. He takes a deep inhale and feels Keith's fingers curl into the padded shoulders of his jacket. It's easy for him to get lost in the moment, for him to focus on bruising Keith enough for it to last him a couple of days.

But he hears footsteps in the distance, even though it’s supposed to be an empty hall. He breaks off immediately and they both tense up. Shiro immediately presses a finger against Keith's lips as the sound of boots against the floor grows nearer, a slew of curses running through his head. He turns them so that his back is facing the door, so that he's shielding Keith if anyone opens; a tense moment passes as the footsteps pause. Someone sneezes loudly, blows their nose before shuffling away. Shiro waits till they can't hear shoes at all before letting go of Keith.

He immediately gets to work, buttoning up Keith's collar and straightening his uniform. Keith tries to kiss him and Shiro lets him, lets Keith try and slip his tongue in one more time before he's breaking them apart and arranging then so that they don't look like they've spent the past few minutes making out in a supply closet.

Long after they part, Shiro's still thinking about that bruise that bloomed on Keith's collarbone, dark brown with small purples and reds, thinks of how it'll look when a cadet gets too enthusiastic during a training session and grabs Keith's shirt, exposing the mark to everyone else. It's juvenile but he likes the idea, likes the subtle claim it stakes, the way it marks Keith.

Shiro still wants to leave something that lasts a little longer but this, he thinks, will be enough for now.

 

* * *

 

 

That is until he watches Keith take another one of his classmates down to the mat two days later. It’s a free practice, so Shiro doesn’t have to teach. He just has to make sure no one’s breaking bones or dishing out black eyes and occasionally has to put an over-eager cadet in their place. Keith shows up to every single one of these practices and tries to take on as many people as he can.

Keith’s all of eighteen, not that much younger than Shiro, but he already fights like he’s seen hand-to-hand combat beyond the occasional street scuffle. He’s not infallible and he needs fine tuning, but he gives people as hard a time as possible. Shiro wants Keith to train as much as possible before he leaves for Kerberos, wants to impart as much of his knowledge as he can so that he can come back to a Keith that could take out ten people in one go if he wanted to.

This time he’s with an upper year that Shiro knows has been keeping an eye out for Keith. They’re putting Keith through his paces, but Keith’s doing a stellar job holding his own and Shiro tries to not look too smug. The two grapple on the mats and there’s no real technique to it, but he can see the way they are actively honing their abilities.

Shiro’s standing at the corner of one of the mats, assessing each of their moves. He can see how many times Keith gets the upper hand, and it’s significantly higher than the senior cadet’s. Shiro knows both of them will grill him on where they can go better next time, so he catalogues each throw, each punch, each block. He thinks what he would do if he was Keith, takes note of it so that he can tell the other cadet.

Shiro thinks what he would do if he was Keith’s opponent, and that’s where it starts to unravel. Shiro can easily imagine himself throwing Keith off, putting him into a leg lock or dropping him into an easy closed guard and curling over him afterwards. Heat curls within him as he thinks about long legs hooking around his neck and trying to pull him into a choke that he knows will hold strong and certain.

The senior cadet taps out, gives Keith a grin and a fistbump which Keith returns with a twitch of the corner of his mouth. Shiro can see them approach him, already brimming with questions, and he neatly squares away whatever daydream’s started to form in his head.

He lets out later, much later when he’s alone in the showers, long after everyone’s left. He’s got one hand pressed against the wall and the other wrapped around himself, working himself quick and fast just incase someone walks in. He thinks about Keith, only Keith, exclusively of Keith, but not of Keith.

Shiro thinks of them rolling around on the mat, thinks of folding Keith in half and telling him to submit after a good match. He thinks about how no one’s quite made him earn his victory like Keith has, and that thought tips over his edge. Shiro remembers the force with which Keith had rutted against him after Shiro had pinned him down and rendered him immobile. He comes with a short grunt that half-forms Keith’s name and leans forward, pressing his forehead against the cool tile as he rides it out in his own hand.

  
Shiro _has_ Keith. He has all of Keith, just like Keith has all of him, but there’s still a small itch that’s telling him to make sure.

 

* * *

 

 

It does make things a little complicated a few days later, when it’s Keith who’s got Shiro pinned down on the mat. Shiro knows the moves he used like they’re an old dance, but it takes a good amount of his concentration to not let his mind wander back to their private sparring session.

“Yield,” Keith says, and Shiro grins.

Keith’s looking down on him like he can’t quite believe he’s finally managed to take Shiro down on his own merit, and not because they’re just fooling around. Shiro squirms, can feel out around three different ways to escape Keith’s hold. That’s the lowest number anyone’s ever gotten with their ever-friendly but notoriously hard to beat assistant combat instructor.

“Are you sure?” He asks steadily, and Keith’s determined expression wavers.

The other cadets are talking amongst themselves, assessing the situation. Keith’s gotten further on the ground than any other cadet has with Shiro. Keith’s a fast learner and Shiro’s sure that in a month, Keith’s going to be able to pin Shiro down with only one leak in his hold. Shiro believes in a little bit of tough love though, and never pulls his punches, so for now he’s going to throw Keith off. He’s going to pull him into a headlock, maybe an advanced arm bar that he knows Keith doesn’t quite know how to get out of yet.

Shiro thinks of how it’ll look to the cadets if he gets Keith pinned on on his front, arms wrenched behind him while Shiro digs a knee into his back and tells him to submit. He thinks about Keith, pliant and flushed in his arms but still refusing to tap out until Shiro folds his wrist enough for him to not ignore the discomfort. It’s an echo of what they did, and Shiro has to throw away the thought before it consumes in front of the others.

Shiro knows for certain now that if he were in fact to put Keith to the ground, it would be for a purely selfish reason and decidedly not an educational one. He’s got a perpetual desire to claim Keith and as it is, his mind’s started clicking and whirring, started forming a half baked idea that sounds better the more and more he thinks about it.

Keith applies more pressure, switches the structure of his body in a minute way that whittles down the amount of ways Shiro can escape to two. He can still flip them, he can still bring Keith to his knees and have the feeling of it linger in his brain long after he lectures the class on their match.

“I yield,” Shiro says instead, and the look of surprise on Keith’s face as the class starts to cheer is more than worth it.

 

* * *

 

 

“You did great today,” Shiro says, and Keith snorts. It’s not graceful, but it’s the first non-needy noise he’s been able to make in the past twenty minutes.

“You – _ah_ _–_ you let me,” Keith says, rolling down onto Shiro.

Shiro’s holding onto his hips, guiding Keith as he rides Shiro. Keith’s got Shiro’s wrists in a death grip as he rises and drops on Shiro, short and shallow as he adjusts. He’s also got Shiro’s uniform jacket on over a rucked up tank top and Shiro’s been wondering for the past thirty seconds how exactly he can tear the shirt off Keith while letting the jacket remain.

They’re in Shiro’s quarters; he’s long forgotten what task he was supposed to finish, and he _may_ just find it within him to regret it later on. But Keith had shown up right before curfew, just in time for him to risk getting caught and getting in trouble if Shiro turned him away. It’s a calculated move, smart if Shiro had any shred of self restraint when it comes to Keith.

Shiro had told him to make himself comfortable and to wait while Shiro finished his work. Keith had shrugged and flopped down onto the firm mattress. Five minutes later, he poked Shiro’s shoulder and asked him how he thought Keith would look as an official pilot. The sight of Keith in his uniform had quickly shut off any higher function in Shiro’s brain and he found himself being pressed down into the mattress at an impressive rate as Keith climbed onto his lap.

“Did I?” Shiro huffs out, cocking a half grin that falls into a moan as Keith lifts himself just a little bit more, comes down just a little bit harder. Shiro grips Keith tighter and urges him on, trying hard not to close his eyes or roll them back. He needs to drink in as much of the sight as possible, carry as much with him when he leaves.

“You easily could’ve escaped,” Keith skims his fingers over Shiro’s bare chest, his head hanging down between his shoulders as he works himself on Shiro. Shiro moans and Keith looks entirely pleased with himself. “Easily put me down.”

Shiro wants Keith to dig his nails into his skin, wants Keith to scratch him and leave angry red marks for Shiro to look at in his tiny bathroom mirror. Shiro knows he can easily ask Keith for it. He also knows that he can get it out of Keith through other means.

“Yeah?”  Shiro skims a hand across Keith’s lower belly, enjoying the heat radiating off his body. He loosely circles Keith and starts to stroke him, causing Keith’s pace to stutter. “Is that what you wanted?”

Keith doesn’t respond so Shiro continues to lightly tug at him, thumbing and squeezing and going slack so that Keith can buck up into his hand as he tries to keep his pace. He’s dripping and Shiro uses it to make him slicker. He can tell Keith’s getting lost in the wet heat of it and feels him starting to tremble. Keith lets out soft noises and breathes out Shiro’s name, and Shiro doesn’t think he quite wants it to end yet.

He releases Keith and slides his hand back towards his hip. He adjusts and slots his fingers around the junction where it meets his thigh and massages in a circle with his hand.

“You have to answer me, baby,” He says, shifting his legs around so that he can plant his feet flat on his firm mattress. “Did you want me to pin you in front of all your classmates?”

Keith opens his mouth to answer just as Shiro thrusts up into him _hard_. A cry rips out from him instead as he’s jolted up with the force of it. He falls forward and Shiro feels the bite of the blunt, regulation-short nails in his chest.

“Again?” He asks, and Keith nods, chews his lower lip. Shiro’s hold on him is just short of bruising and he uses it to lift Keith up, drawing him off a little less than halfway.

“Shiro,” Keith begs and Shiro acquises, yanking him down just as he drives up into Keith. Keith drags his fingers down Shiro’s chest and holds on as Shiro repeats the action over and over again, rapidly increasing the pace. With each hard thrust his jacket falls further off Keith’s shoulders, sliding down to reveal glistening skin. Keith lets out small yelps as Shiro fucks into him with purpose, the blush on his face reaching his hairline. 

He’s suddenly struck with the way he felt when Keith had him pinned and he knew he could overpower him anyways— with the way Keith looked down on him in disbelief. Every degree that they’ve tipped in the past few days has been towards something like this, something all-encompassing and consuming. The drag of Keith around him, the way Keith’s arms tremble as they try to find purchase and stability on Shiro’s body is making Shiro feel greedy. He knows Keith can give him more, knows _he_ can give Keith more in a way that’ll have Keith going boneless, and it gives him an idea.

“Pin me,” Shiro says, and he snaps up hard as he slows down.

“ _What?_ ” Keith sounds breathless, bemused at the suggestion. He’s still got his fingers clawed in Shiro’s chest, and his lip’s slick from where he bit it while riding Shiro.

“You said I went easy on you,” Shiro says simply. “So pin me, and I won’t.”

Keith’s eyes widen with realization as it falls into place what Shiro’s hinting at. He tenses for a second and Shiro can feel Keith go rigid. He quickly starts to think of how to backtrack, how to pull Keith back down into the moment, but two hands circle over his wrist. Shiro feels Keith rock forward onto his knees, enough for Shiro to slip out fully. They both let out a small sound at the lack of contact but Keith works quick, dropping his weight into Shiro’s pressure points. It’s a more lascivious replay of their sparring earlier in the day, and Shiro almost preens.

He moves an arm to grab Keith’s shoulder, but Keith counters it and pins it to the pillow beside his head. He uses his knee to press down in the crook of Shiro’s other elbow, trapping that arm as well. The contact thrums with electricity and Keith pushes down on where he’s got Shiro pinned.

“Yield,” Keith’s command shakes with effort as he looks down at Shiro, flushed and determined. Shiro shifts, can count at least four easy ways to escape the hold.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and Keith’s eyes go dark. He chews his lip and moves just enough that Shiro can count endless ways to escape.

Shiro doesn’t hold back when he flips them over. He grabs Keith with the same force he uses on the mat and throws him onto his back. Keith moves, but it’s not fast enough to stop Shiro from flipping him onto his belly. He twists Keith’s arms behind his back in an echo of what they had done before. The jacket’s slipped off even more and he uses the cloth to twist and hold Keith’s arms in place. Keith tries to tuck an elbow and break the hold, but Shiro grabs it in time and puts enough pressure to render it immobile before he manages to pin both of Keith’s wrists with one hand behind his back. Shiro holds him steady, watches as the jacket clings on to Keith.

He lines them up, plays with Keith a little by sliding against him before pulling back. Keith swears and squirm, but Shiro holds fast and slides free fingers up to card through dark hair. He breaks for a second and rubs small circles, massaging Keith’s scalp.

“Still okay, babe?” He asks gently, and Keith nods.

“ _God_ yes,”  Keith lets out a content rumble when Shiro presses in with his fingers harder, and it melts into a moan as Shiro curls and tightens his hand in Keith’s hair. He tugs enough for Keith’s neck to bend back before he takes himself in hand and gives a teasing press before withdrawing.

“Good,” Shiro says and Keith arches, tries to grind back on him. “Yield.”

Keith sputters and tries to get some friction, tries to push back and get some contact. He strains again, attempts to reach Shiro but Shiro holds fast. He can feel the heat of Keith’s body but not the touch of his skin, and he knows the same feeling’s about to push Keith over the brink.

“Yield,” Shiro doesn’t let him have any give, keeping him at a distance that’s teasing enough for Keith to make a frustrated noise “And I'll give you what you need.”

“Yield,” Keith babbles, and it’s tinged with just the right blend of desperation and lust. “In me Shiro, please, _please,_ I yield—”

Keith cuts off his own words with a small choke as Shiro starts to push in, testing how easily Keith's body gives. He tries to go slow but Keith finds the smallest sliver of opportunity and rocks back, sliding onto Shiro in one go.

Shiro lets out a sharp exhale and withdraws just enough that when he pushes back in, fast and demanding, Keith arches automatically. He repeats the action over and over again, putting more strength into it every time he hears his name fall from Keith’s mouth. The mattress shifts underneath them and Keith hiccups with the force of it.

“Mo- oh, _oh_ \- re,” Keith's voice cracks as he begs and Shiro surges against him, yanking him up further by his hair.

Keith’s shaking underneath him and Shiro feels adrenaline course through him as he gives it to Keith harder than he has before. He grits out Keith’s name, tightens his hold on his hair and feels the corners of his vision start to black out. He’s not going to last much longer, and Shiro knows he’s got to let go of Keith so that he can bring Keith to an end too but he doesn’t want to let any part of Keith loose.

He settles on letting go of Keith’s head, watching as it drops and hangs between Keith’s shoulders. Shiro snakes a hand underneath Keith’s belly to find him and circle him, holding onto him loosely. He moves his hand, half jerking Keith off and half letting his thrusts send Keith into his hand. His other hand pushes further against Keith’s wrists, anchoring him as Shiro fucks into Keith.

Keith turns his face into the sheets to muffle the noise he makes as he comes and Shiro wants to pull him up, wants to hear it all, but he likes Keith like this too. Likes Keith’s strength, likes facing up against it, likes taking Keith like a victory. He feels Keith come hot and wet in his hand and it snaps whatever string’s tensed in Shiro.

Shiro swears, says Keith’s name as his mind gets flooded with the headiness of his finish. He lets go of Keith’s wrists as he rides it out and Keith brings his trembling arms in front of him. He tries to prop himself up and fails repeatedly; eventually he folds into his arms and lets out a content moan as Shiro stutters to an end.

Keith winces lightly as Shiro slips out as gently as he can. Keith flops forward and Shiro joins him, careful not to drop down too hard as he lies across Keith’s back. He knows Keith likes the pressure and comfort of the touch, even when they’re both sweaty and sticky, and he presses a trail of kisses against Keith’s damp neck. They lay like that for a few moments before Keith decides to speak.

“Jesus,” Keith mutters under his breath and gives a short laugh. He starts to move and this time Shiro lets him, propping himself up and bracketing Keith as Keith rolls onto his back. He looks up at Shiro, damp bangs pressed against his forehead and framing his incredulous expression.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asks, and finds an arm hooking around his neck and drawing him down for a kiss. It’s sloppy, it’s wet, and it’s tired, but it’s happy. Keith’s happy and in turn, Shiro’s happy. They lay like that for a while, kissing languidly as their breathing slows down and Shiro knows he likes Keith like this too, satisfied and content at being thoroughly worked over.

Eventually, Keith gets overheated and shoves at Shiro. Shiro obediently rolls off, and Keith groans as he sits up and starts to shuck off Shiro’s jacket. Before he can ball it up and throw it in the corner of Shiro’s room with no regard to whatever respect the uniform’s supposed to invoke, Shiro remembers something.

“Hey,” He says, reaching for his jacket. “Give me that.”

“I’m just putting it away,” Keith says, but hands it over anyways.Shiro searches the pockets, hoping that what he’s looking for hasn’t slipped out in their furor. His hand closes around the metal, and he grins as he pulls it out.

“Show me your hand,” He tells Keith and Keith raises his eyebrows but sticks out a palm. Shiro drops a silver chain into Keith’s open palm and closes his hand for him. He brushes his lips over Keith’s knuckles, before setting his jacket down and leaning forward, pressing a kiss to Keith’s shoulder.

Shiro knows whatever they just did approaches only a fraction of what he wants to do. His nervousness, his inability to define why he wants Keith he way he does has manifested in a decision that’s sweet in contrast. He's thought about it for a few days now, and it's refused to leave his head. 

Shiro wants to map fingerprints and scratches and marks across Keith’s body as much as he can before he jettisons towards Pluto in a cramped rocket. He wants the way they feel to last long after they disappear, long after Shiro’s millions of miles away. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, so he’s giving Keith the next best thing.

It’s his graduation ring from the Garrison, gilded silver to match its chain, with a small but fierce black stone set in the middle. Keith holds it up so that the metal glints in the low lamp light, and lets out a satisfied rumble when he runs a thumb over where Shiro’s name is engraved.

Shiro’s going to do his best to envelope Keith before he leaves but this will be a mark that runs hotter, burns deeper. This will be a mark that'll brand Keith every time it sits against his chest and he looks up at the stars towards Shiro and this– this will do.

**Author's Note:**

> You bet they 100% pick this back up in the Castle-ship, and you 110% know Keith gives Shiro the best run for his money and Shiro _loves_ it.
> 
> Come challenge me to hand to hand combat on [tumblr](http://phaltu.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/tagteamme)!!


End file.
